Two To Tango
by Phoenix Moon 13
Summary: They say that it's better to have loved and lost. Ever tried? Sequel to And Now There's Three, Spike and Anya's romance takes a drastic turn for the worse.
1. The End of the Affair

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter One: The End of the Affair**

She wondered how it could all fall apart so hard and so quickly. She never knew that things could, that her life could.

And it had only taken three days. Three days and she was left with nothing. She had lost everything. Her livelihood, the trust of her friends, the use of her right arm.

And she had lost him.

One stupid, idiotic mistake and it was all over. It didn't matter what kind of pain they had gone through to get to where they had been. It didn't matter that she loved him more than anything, because he didn't want to know anymore.

For once, she didn't care that she lived on a Hellmouth. She didn't care about money or sex.

She cared about him.

It seemed to be going ok, y'know? It looked like the Hellmouth had decided that it'd had it's fun with William the Bloody and Anya Jenkins and was going to let them go along their merry way. Then it came back with a vengeance, screwing everything up until all that was left was… _This_. Her, standing alone in a graveyard, crying and watching the one thing she loved most in the world walk out of her life.

She laughed a little. She could at least be honest with herself. The Hellmouth hadn't screwed things up, she had done that herself. She felt her pride rear up inside her, screaming at her that it hadn't been all her. He'd hurt her too! She blocked the memory of… No, she couldn't. Wouldn't.

She rubbed her arm, shivering. But she didn't move. Their angry, desperate yells and screams still echoed in her ears. The way he looked at her, the way he tilted his head and looked at her with a look of such regret, pain and betrayal in those blue eyes tore at her.

She tried to forget that there had been tears in his eyes.

She hated herself. She raged at everything. At herself, at him, at the people she really didn't want to think about because it hurt so much, at the graveyard, at the stupid sky and at the goddamned feeling inside that made her just want to die. Her right arm was in a sling and her left arm wrapped around her stomach as she watched him.

A wild sob rose within her, she pressed her fingers to her lips, but it pushed up and through her fingers, cutting through the still night air and filling it with her misery. She thought she saw his step falter and she stood where she was, frozen and numb, hoping he would turn around and run to her. She prayed he would scoop her up, kiss her hair, let her cry out all her pain and regret against his chest. She wished he would whisper that it would be all right, that he was sorry, that he loved her.

That they could start again.

But he was walking away, toward the cemetery gates, his coat flapping behind him.

Above all else, she hated that walk. Mainly because it carried him away from her. He was walking _away_, not toward her - _away. _And it wasn't the sexy, predator-like stalk that she adored, the one that made her drool. It was slow, as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. His head was bowed, his hands jammed into his pockets. He walked like an old man.

Like he really was 127.

It didn't matter that part of her blamed him. Didn't matter that part of her hated him for hurting her in retaliation for what she had done. Didn't matter that if he hadn't made such a big deal out of her request in the first place, none of this would have happened at all.

Because in the end it was her fault he was walking like that.

* * *

He never knew things could fall apart so hard and so quickly. He had lived for over a century and he had never known that things could fall apart so damned hard.

No matter how fast he felt like he was walking, the gates of the cemetery didn't seem to get any nearer. He seemed to be closer to her than ever. Every part of him was aware of here. He could feel the waves of pain roll off her and he wanted to scream. He just wanted to turn around and scream across the graveyard that it wasn't fair. She didn't get to hurt because she had started it all. If she hadn't done it, he never would have.

She had no right to hurt.

He knew he was wrong. She had as much right to hurt as he did.

But she had _known_ what she was doing, she knew it would kill him if he found out. But he hadn't been thinking. All he was thinking about was needing the pain to just _stop_, he just wanted to stop feeling like the fool that _always _got taken for a ride. He didn't even realise what he had done before he saw her staring at him, her eyes wide.

There had been pain in her eyes and his first emotion was complete regret, a churning that started in his stomach and moved into his throat. His second thought was to grab her and shake to make her realise what she had done, what she had forced him to do.

His eyes flicked toward the gate; it looked no nearer. He thought it would be easier to sink to his knees and give in, let her watch him die. He was an old man, too old for all of this. And for a moment, he was sure that if he just stopped trying to reach the gates, the life would drain out of him and by the time she reached him, there would only be the wasted shell of a body, the blood and life sucked out of it leaving a dry husk that would turn to dust beneath her fingers.

He used to think her kisses, full of pure, sweet fire, could turn him to dust. But it was her, standing behind him, her scent, a twisted contortion of her own sweet scent, him and… No. He couldn't think about that, he didn't want to become dust. He didn't want to age.

But he felt that he would, without her. His hair would grey, his bones would become brittle, his flesh ravaged, his eyes dull. And it would be all her fault, for so long he had just needed _her_. He could live without blood and alcohol and fighting easier than he could live without her. But now all he needed to do was get to those gates and the thought of what he would do once he got there scared him.

Because he didn't know.

Behind him, he was aware she hadn't moved. He was glad, if she moved, got closer to him, he didn't know how he would concentrate on getting away.

Finally, he reached the gate. He always thought they were an unsuccessful attempt to keep things in at night. He grabbed one iron bar, felt the rust crumble against his palm and pulled. With a squeal, the gate opened and he paused for a moment. He didn't know what to do. He couldn't go home, not to that double room with the mingling scents of her and the memory of his biggest mistake. A mistake which, at the time, he had enjoyed.

So, he forced himself forward and pushed himself out through the gate. He turned sharply, his coat snapping with a flourish around the corner, out of the gate.

She continued to watch. She waited until he disappeared out through the gates before bowing her head and following him. When she reached the gates, she knew which direction he had taken. He turned left, in the direction of Willy's. It would have been so easy to follow him. To be able to keep seeing him, watching him him. But she didn't. Instead, she turned right, towards the Summers' house and prayed that only Tara would be home.

* * *

Dawn stood at the top of the stairs and watched as Tara led a shaking Anya into the living room. Slowly, she sat down on the top stair and listened to the muted conversation.

"How's your arm?" she heard Tara ask.

"Fine."

"Willow said it was a vampire…"

"Yeah. Did you have fun?"

"Fun?"

"At that conference thing."

"It wasn't meant to be fun, Anya, it was educational."

"Oh."

"What's happened?"

There was a long silence and Dawn slid down the stairs a little more and leaned forward.

"Anya? Anya, what's wrong?"

"Me," the answer was a squeak. "I'm wrong. I was wrong. He was wrong. _We're_ wrong, Tara."

"We - ? Spike? You and Spike are wrong? Anya, you're perfect together -"

"Then why aren't we together anymore?"

Dawn scrambled up, ran silently to her room, dressed and slipped out of the window. Tara, unaware that Dawn was even up, sat quietly for a moment, before taking Anya's hand and squeezing lightly. She thanked the Goddess that something had been up with Buffy, so Willow had taken her out.

"Anya? Do you want to talk about it?"

She shook her head, then slowly lifted her eyes to Tara's and nodded. She sniffed, wiped at her eyes and took a deep breath before recounting the tale in a soft voice…

* * *

Dawn ran quickly down the streets, towards Willy's, stake clutched in her fist. She remembered the route from that summer before her sister came back, when she had gone to look for him, for someone to talk to. She hated being shut out. It was starting to be ok. Her and Buffy were getting along, they would talk and joke over breakfast now she was happier with her new job in the school.

But a couple of days ago it went wrong.

Buffy had burrowed back inside herself, with even Willow barely able to coax her to talk about what was wrong.

Spike had regained the wide eyed look of loss he had had back in that summer.

And Anya had been hiding away in the shop, avoiding everyone and running off every few hours to sob loudly in the bathroom.

She came to the entry to Willy's and shoved the door open, adopting a haughty stance she had copied from Buffy as she strode across to the bar. She saw him immediately, slumped at the bar, hair sticking up in all directions, his hand waving blearily at Willy to give him another drink.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He groaned and didn't even turn his head in her direction.

"Go away, Buffy."

She felt a buzz of pride at the fact she had been mistaken for the Slayer by someone who at one time had been in love with her. Then came the fury at being mistaken for her sister when she was a completely different person.

"It's me, Spike."

He lifted his head, his hand pressed to his forehead as he stared at her. He squinted, trying to see her clearly. When he recognised her, his eyes grew wide and he grabbed her wrist, the swift movement causing him to sway on his barstool. She caught hold of his forearm to steady him and eased him back onto the stool.

"What you doin' 'ere, Bit?" he asked. "You shouldn't be 'ere, I told you that before. Go 'ome."

She almost smiled at his incoherent speech, but instead sat firmly down and glared at him, pointing the stake at him.

"Anya's at home, Spike. Tara's got back now from that educational trip thing she went on, which she said wasn't fun, by the way. Now Anya's crying and whimpering all over the couch."

"So you snuck out?"

"Well, yeah. I head Anya say two broke up," she nibbled her lip nervously. "It's not true, is it, Spike? You two _are_ still together, right?"

He gave a bitter laugh that ended in a sob. Her mind wandered back a few years to when she had sat on the kitchen counter and watched him sob into his hot chocolate as he moaned about Drusilla. He had laughed then, through his misery, _"She's out of her mind. That's what I miss most about her."_

"Nah, Niblet. 'Fraid that freak show's come to an end."

Something inside her lurched to a sickening halt. She had been waiting for him to laugh, tug a strand of her hair and tell her that it was all right, that it was just a row and he'd buy her something pretty and he'd make it ok, she didn't have to worry. It had happened often enough.

Dawn had made it her personal responsibilty to go and see him if she heard he and Anya had had an argument. And it was always the same, he'd tell her it was all right and then sweep Anya off her feet with a romantic dinner or a dramatic public apology she couldn't fail to resist. But it was different now. There was no worry hidden by bravado. It was all out acceptance and Dawn couldn't stand it.

She wouldn't admit it to anyone, but she liked having a stable and loving couple around. It made her think that maybe things would be ok. Tara and Willow were stable and loving, but it somehow meant more to her that Anya and Spike stayed together. Neither could be called normal and Dawn herself wasn't normal. But if they could be happy and in love, it could happen to her too, right?

"What do you…?" she couldn't form the question. She knew what he meant. She tried again. "Why?"

He smiled ruefully at her. "You wouldn't wanna to 'ear it," he lifted his hand again."'Nother one over 'ere, Wil -"

She slammed his hand back onto the bar top and glared at him.

"Tell me," she gritted out.

She needed to know. Needed to know the morbid details because this way she could see the fault and put it right. She had to try.

"You sure you wanna 'ear this?"

"Yes."

"Fine," he inhaled deeply and let the breath out in a long sigh. "Started three days ago…"


	2. Going Downhill

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter Two: Going Downhill  
**

"Spike, honey," Anya said, taking his hand and pulling it away from the candle display.

She would never tell him to his face, but sometimes she wished he wouldn't try to help her. Last time he had tried to help, he had created a lurid display out of the skulls, eagle feathers and jars of beetles. She shuddered to even think of it. And now he was messing around with the candle display.

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you go home?" she asked.

"Now why would I wanna do that, eh?" he asked and slipped around the counter, sliding an arm around her waist and pulling her to him, he pushed her hair to one side and leaned forward to whisper. "'Cause as soon as that bird over by the bookshelf's gone, I'm thinking you need to take an inventory downstairs. I thought I might help."

She knew what he meant. She wasn't stupid and, well, she had to admit that sex with Spike was fantastic at the best of times. But sex with Spike in the shop was always the best. Even when Giles had been visiting from England and had wandered down into the storeroom and caught them in the act, it had still been great.

"Sounds fun," she whispered back and glared at the customer who had been weighing two books in her hands for about five minutes. The customer quickly replaced one book and hurried to the counter.

Anya wrapped the book, aware of Spike watching her, cigarette between his lips. She leaned slightly further forward than necessary to receive the money and hand the book to the woman. As the woman struggled with her purchase and shoulder bag, she smiled at Anya and Spike.

"You two look happy," she commented.

Anya paused. No stranger had ever made that kind of off-hand comment about her and Xander and for a second, sex was the farthest thing from her mind.

"We do?" she beamed at the woman, then at Spike who chuckled and grinned back.

"Yeah. You look like a couple who could be together forever. Well, bye."

"Er, yeah," Anya nodded. "Oh, have a nice day!"

The woman smiled and left the shop. Almost immediately, Anya felt Spike's arm slip around her waist. Her breathing sped up and she turned around to crush her lips to his.

"Wait, wait," she mumbled, pulling away.

"Bloody hell, Sunshine," he groaned. "Wait for what?"

He sighed as she ran over to the door of the shop and flipped the sign over to read "Closed" and slid the bolt across. She skidded to a halt in front of him and tugged the sleeve of his jacket toward the cellar.

He grinned and followed her, his hands running all over her as they stumbled down the stairs.

"Spike?" she gasped, as he pressed her against a packing case and licked her throat.

"Mmm?" he mumbled in return.

"Do you…" she gasped again. "Think she was right?"

"Do I think who was right about what, pet?" he asked, his hands deftly undoing the buttons of her shirt.

"About us. The together forever thing."

He stopped and looked down at her. His crooked finger lifted her chin and he studied her.

"Why?"

"I was just wondering," she returned and pressed against him. She really must remember that questions like that should be kept for another time. He had a disconcerting habit of stopping in the middle of his ministrations if he thought something she said was important. He must have figured she would be more coherent if he stopped. She guessed there was logic in there somewhere.

"Why wouldn't we?" he answered.

_Good enough for me_, she thought and grabbed him in a hot kiss. _Now try stopping…_

* * *

_"You look like a couple who could be together forever."_

The sentence had been running through her mind all day. It made her feel warm and tingly inside. In her mind, there had never been any doubt about her and Spike being together forever, but if a perfect stranger saw it too, they must really have something.

There was just one problem though. The _"forever" _part. It had never really bothered her before, but now it seemed out of reach. Forever to most couples meant until they died, which was fine. But Spike wasn't going to die or age because he was a vampire. She, on the other hand, was completely human and would someday age. Their forever was until she died. She guessed she could live with that.

But there was a nagging voice in the back of her mind that asked her why a good-looking guy like Spike would want her when she was grey and wrinkly. She kept telling the voice that he would because he loved her and what they had wasn't just about sex. But the voice kept on asking her the same question.

So she made a decision.

"Spike?"

"Yeah, love?"

He looked over his shoulder at her. They were in the kitchen of their apartment. She was sitting at the table pretending to read an article on the stock market while he was chopping something at the counter. It was his night to cook and somewhere over the years, he had learned to whip up a mean salad to go with whatever he ordered for their dinner that night.

"I've been thinking…"

"'Bout what?"

"About what that woman said in the shop. Y'know, about up looking like we'd be together forever."

He inhaled deeply and turned around, folding his arms and studying her intensely.

"I knew something was up. You've been acting weird all day. What is it?" she saw, even if he didn't realise he had done it, the mask slip into place and it was the Big Bad looking at her, not Spike. She realised he was steeling himself for bad news.

"I was thinking about you and me," she started. "And I came to the logical conclusion that… Thatyoushouldturnme."

He frowned, then raised his eyebrows.

"And in English, please?"

She lowered her eyes and took a deep breath. Then she shook her hair and looked up, her face determined.

"I think you should turn me."

His expression froze and she wondered if she had heard him.

"I said, I think you should -"

"Forget it," he snapped and turned away, attacking whatever it was with renewed vigour.

"Spike, I just…"

He dropped the knife on the counter and turned around again, his fingers curling into fists.

"You don't know what you're talking about," he hissed. "You don't have a soddin' clue what you're asking."

"Yes, I do!" she protested. "I've been around a lot longer than you and I know what I'm asking. I'm asking to be immortal so that you won't leave me."

As soon as she said it, she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"Leave you?" he thundered. "What in the bloody hell are you _talking_ about? I'm not Xander bleedin' Harris! I've got no intention of running off and -"

"What about when I'm old?" she yelled back. "What about when I get old and I can't _do_ anything anymore? What about when I start to _die_?"

"Shut up, Anya!" he snapped. "Just shut up."

"No!" she screamed. "Don't tell me to shut up! This is important to me! I want to be with you!"

He grabbed her shoulders and stared at her intently.

"And I want to be with you," the voice was softer than before, but there was a hard edge to it. "You're not gonna die for a long time yet. And I won't leave you just 'cause you get a few grey hairs."

"I'd want you to," she answered. "I couldn't bear to have you there just hanging around because you promised to. I don't see why you can't just turn me. I don't mean now, I mean sometime in the near future."

"Do you want to know why I won't turn you?" he asked.

She nodded numbly. He let go of her shoulders and started to pace.

"Because if I turn you, it would mean _killing _you. I don't particularly fancy killing the woman I love, ok? And even if I did, you wouldn't be you. You'd be some evil demon, probably one that hated me because of the damned chip and runs off first chance she gets. No bloody thank you."

"I could get a soul," she pointed out. "You told me about how Willow gave Angel his soul back that time he went ka-blooey. We could get her to give me a soul."

"She's not a witch anymore, Anya. Remember? If we asked her, it might go wrong, she might go apocalyptic and blow up half of Sunnydale. It wouldn't work."

"Tara then," she said desperately.

"No, Anya," he answered. "Not Tara. She couldn't do a spell like that; it'd take too much outta her. Leave it be, Anya. We're fine as we are. It wouldn't work."

He turned back to the counter and she stared at his back, her mouth agape. He didn't want her. If he did, he wouldn't have blocked the idea. He could turn her and they _could_ ask Tara. She'd do it, Anya knew she would. Tara wouldn't see it as bad magic; it would be for a good cause. Obviously, he didn't see it that way.

"I don't want any," she told him coldly and left the kitchen.

She grabbed her coat from the hook by the door and slammed out of the apartment with as much force as she could muster.

He listened to her go and slowly sat in her vacated chair and dropped his head into his hands.

"Bloody hell."

* * *

She sniffed and rubbed her nose furiously. Tara had gone on a course! Great timing. She refused to admit to herself that Tara had told her. Now what was she going to do? Willow had said she could come in and talk if she wanted to, but she wanted to talk to someone who understood. She could talk to Spike because he was the damned problem and Tara had gone on a course, of all things, when Anya needed her most.

Well, she'd just have to - wait a minute. There was one other person she could go to. Someone who knew her well and someone she knew didn't have a date. Who hadn't had a date in months.

She turned right at the edge of the street and headed towards Xander's.

* * *

"… So, she stopped by did she, Red? When...? An _hour_ ago? How long did she stay there...? She didn't? Oh, bloody hell. I don't suppose she said where she was going, did she...? No, didn't think so… Right… Yeah, I know she's on a course… I guess she mighta done…. What's the number...? All right, I'll give her a call…. Thanks, Will."

Spike replaced the phone with a sigh. She wasn't at Buffy's. So where was she? Knowing her and her pride, she rather stay in some piss-end motel than come home. All because he wouldn't turn her. Honestly, women. It wasn't like he had said he didn't want her, he thought he had made the wanting her part quite clear over the last few months. What did it take?

He picked up the phone and dialled the number he had scrawled on the fluorescent yellow pad by the phone.

"Hi, Tara. It's me, Spike. Having a nice time...? Good. Listen, love, Anya hasn't called you by any chance, has she…?"

* * *

"It's not even like I was asking that much," Anya said, hiccuping slightly as she waved her wine glass around for emphasis. "In fact, I was doing him a favour!"

"Yeah, exactly," Xander nodded. "Um, how was that again?"

"If I didn't ask him to turn me, he'd be stuck with a old woman who he couldn't have wild, animalistic sex with!"

Xander winced, in spite of the drunken haze.

"Least you got someone," he muttered blearily. "I haven't had a date in ages. At least you've got someone to argue with."

She tilted her head and looked at him, trying to determine - though she was very drunk herself, damn; this was good wine - whether it was him or the drink talking. She patted his hand reassuringly.

"We're in the same boat, Xander, " she told him, then felt a surge of pain when she realised she said something Spike would say. "I mean," she searched for a phrase that she hadn't picked up from Spike. "I mean, I don't have anyone either."

"You've got Spike, Ahn. True, he's not much of a someone, but he's a someone."

She let the hated "Ahn" slide for once.

"I thought you were starting to like him?" she asked instead.

He shrugged and gulped the last of his wine and poured another glass before answering.

"Only pretended 'cause you were happy."

She smiled at him. She had almost forgotten how very sweet Xander could be.

"Really?"

"Yeah. So… You and him are over?"

"As far as I'm concerned," she answered airily. "If he doesn't want me forever then why should I waste my life on - "

Xander's lips on hers cut her off. She kissed him back in drunken defiance of Spike. It felt good, easy, familiar. His tongue was as talented as it had ever been and he certainly hadn't lost his touch through underuse. And it was clear when she crawled into his lap to get a deeper kiss that he wanted her, even if Spike didn't.

So it wasn't long before she was unbuttoning his pants and he was tugging at her shirt as they stumbled into the bedroom.

* * *

"… She didn't call you then, Tara...? Oh yeah, I know she'll turn up…. Worried? No, I'm not bloody worried! If she wants to bugger off in the middle of the night on the soddin' Hellmouth, that's her lookout… I'm not worried at all…"


	3. Hitting The Fan

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter Three: Hitting The Fan  
**

He woke up alone. It had been so long since he woke up alone and his first reaction was panic. Where was she? Then the memory of the night before came back and he winced. Oh yeah, he could have been more tactful. But she knew when they got together that he wasn't exactly the most tactful vampire around. He sighed and shifted in the bed, staring around the room.

He'd never been in a relationship like this one before. Drusilla had filled the place he was staying in with dolls. Some with half their hair missing, other's with missing eyes. The only one that was in good condition was Miss Edith. She was always Dru's favourite. Angelus got her for Dru, as he recalled. They had never settled anywhere, never got a nice place that she could do up.

Harmony had moved herself into his crypt. Before he knew it, there were unicorns everywhere, glitter all over his favourite chair, make-up rubbed over the sheets, mud packs in the fridge and he had tripped over a ghastly pink feather boa more times than he could count. But she had never been a part of his life; she had forced herself in. She didn't fit into his life in the same way that her glittery things didn't fit into the black cave of his crypt.

But with Anya, it was all new and different. She fitted into his life like a hand in a glove. He had moved into her room, moving his clothing and books into the bright room. She had dark red curtains put up to protect him from the sun and had made room for his clothes in her closet. Her makeup and various bottles of nail varnish were placed neatly on the vanity table, the small stool tucked underneath, the mirror shone in the small beam of light that slipped through the curtains. For some reason, his small bottle of black nail varnish and battered packet of cigarettes didn't look out of place. His black boots looked good tossed untidily next to her favourite black pumps.

She felt good in his life. She felt good in his arms. She just felt _good_. He dragged the sheets back and left the room for the bathroom, ignoring the burn of sunlight as it grazed his side.

He was going to get her back.

* * *

Buffy ran down the hall and opened the door, almost knocked over as Spike ran in and tossed the blanket off himself.

"Spike?" she asked. "What are you doing here? It's daytime!"

"Really? Would never have guessed, Buffy, what with the pain and the burning and all!"

"Oh, right," she shuffled her feet. "Want some pancakes? I kinda made too many."

"No thanks, Slayer, I'm a vampire on a mission."

"To annoy the hell outta me?" she asked with a friendly smile.

"The world don't revolve around you, y'know. Actually, I'm looking for Anya."

"Anya? Why, what's up?"

"Nothing. We just… had an argument and she sorta… went off… But that's not the issue here," he bristled slightly and avoided her eyes. "The point is, I'm trying to find her."

"And then what?"

He stared at her, she was serious.

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" he asked in disbelief. "What do you think I'm gonna do? We're gonna talk… I'll… apologise... or something."

Her eyes softened. She wasn't dumb, she wasn't blind either. Spike would pretty much do anything to get Anya back. She had been present to witness him producing a large bunch of flowers and a loud apology for missing a dinner she had cooked. She felt a twinge of jealousy and forced it away. It was good; it was good that two of her friends were happy.

"Well, I haven't seen her, Spike, she hasn't been here."

He felt his stomach lurch. Hellmouth, missing Anya, not a good combination. Ok, he had to keep calm; he could let himself get bogged down in worry. He had to keep a clear head; he had to - _where is she? She could be lying in pain in a ditch somewhere! Or - or… worse_

"Have you tried asking Tara?"

"Huh, what?" he shook his head and looked up at her.

"Tara? Have you tried -"

"I called her last night, I tried again this morning, but she was out at that lecture thing."

"Oh…." Buffy nibbled her lip and wondered where she would go. "Xander?"

"What about him?"

"She might be there. If Tara wasn't here to talk to, maybe she went to see him," she saw the dismay cross his face and hurried to change her theory. "To talk. She might have mentioned what motel she'd be staying in for the night…"

"Oh yeah, right. I know that," he frowned and nodded. "Can I use your phone to call him? Easier than going out into the pesky sunlight."

"Sure," she waved him into the living room and found Xander in the small phone book. She went back into the kitchen, but stood by the door and listened.

He punched in the number a little harder than necessary and waited for the idiot boy to answer. He didn't.

"Hey, you got hold of him yet?" Buffy asked, coming back into the living room with a glass of orange juice.

"No," Spike shrugged. "Lazy git probably isn't even up yet."

"Probably," Buffy agreed.

He swept the blanket over himself again and she followed him to the door and opened it, watching him race toward his car. She bit her lip again and closed the door.

Xander was always up by now.

* * *

The telephone had woken her up, but she couldn't answer it, she was too ashamed. She glanced behind her at Xander's sleeping body and shuddered. She should really wake him up, he'd be late for work otherwise, he hadn't set his alarm the night before. _That would be my fault._

Xander sighed contentedly and rolled toward her, a small smile on his face that she remembered from when they were an item.

"Ahn," he mumbled and yawned a little before falling back into a deep sleep again.

She hated "Ahn," hated the possessiveness of it. No one else ever called her that, it was something only he did, even when she left him and got with Spike, he would let it slip every now and again. Spike never called her "Ahn," he called her "Sunshine." But there was no possessiveness about that nickname because he had nicknames for everyone and he had called her that long before that were a couple. She liked that it was special though, liked that no one else ever called her that. Liked that it meant something to him.

She sniffed hard and wiped her eyes, tugging the sheet more tightly around her naked body.

* * *

Spike rapped hard on the door. Fine, the whelp wouldn't wake up; he'd give him a nasty little surprise. He dug in the pocket of the duster and removed a small piece of wire that had been there since he and Dawn had broken into the Magic Box. After a few minutes fiddling and muted curses, the door opened and he slipped into the apartment. He half closed his eyes against the sun and moved back into the shadows.

_Love what you've done to the place, Xander, _Spike thought, his lip curling as he noted the empty wine bottles and take away boxes. _Like a zoo. Lovely._

He froze when he caught the smell of Anya. He stood in the middle of the living room and turned slowly in a complete circle. His eyes came to rest on the two glasses nestled among empty wine bottles. He snatched up one glass and studied it. There was a clear lipstick mark. _Passionate Rose,_ he thought. It was her favourite lipstick of the moment. He had been bored one day so he had sat reading the names of her make up. _Hot Magenta, Smouldering Black, Dolly Pink _and_ Electric Lilac _to name but a few.

So she was here then, was she? Well, that would explain it. Xander slept on the couch, letting Anya take the bed, he had gone to work and she had slept through the phonecall. As much as it pissed him off that she had gone to Xander's, at least she was ok. At least she hadn't skipped town or been killed or tortured. It would all be ok.

He walked over to the bedroom door and hesitated. If she was asleep, he should really just let her - _oh to hell with it, _he thought. _I'm here to soddin' apologise!_

He yanked the door open and stared at the scene before him. Xander stirred and blinked up at him, his eyes widening as he realised what was happening. Anya sat naked on the side of the bed furthest from him, a sheet wrapped around her torso. She turned around and looked at him blankly. Then her face came to life, her mouth swung open, her hands scrabbled at the sheet as she stood and stumbled around the bed. Xander sat up and stared at the two of them, seeming to think that if he was as silent as possible, Spike wouldn't notice him.

Spike stared down at Anya, her hand hovering over his arm. He didn't move until her hand finally touched him. Images of her screwing Xander in that bed, of her screaming his name flashed through his mind and he yanked his arm away, shaking his head as he backed away.

"Spike," Anya started. "I'm sorry -"

"No," he said. "You don't get to say that."

"Spike, please…"

"No," he yelled. "Keep the _fuck_ away from me! You want Monkey Boy so bad; you're welcome to him. And you," he glared at Xander, his finger shaking with suppressed rage as he pointed at him. "You come anywhere near me, you even attempt to talk to me, and I will break every bone in your body and bleed you dry through your genitals, chip or no chip."

He turned sharply and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Anya standing where she had been, staring at him, tears raining down her face unchecked. She heard the door slam and she jumped, her body quivering.

"Ahn," Xander started.

"No," she snapped. "Shut up! I hate that name!" her voice shook as much as her body. "Just shut up…"

She dragged the sheet up from the floor, hugging it to her chest and ran out of the bedroom and out of the apartment. He was halfway down the hall when she got out of the apartment.

"Spike!" she shouted. "Spike, wait."

"Fuck off, Anya," he answered flatly without turning around.

"Spike!" she screamed, running to catch up, her feet catching in the sheet. "Spike!"

He turned into the stairwell and she crumbled to the floor, suddenly awareness of her nakedness, both physical and mental, sobbing wildly.

"_Spike._"

He leaned against the wall, out of her sight and rubbed his hands over his face. He listened as she picked herself up and returned to Xander's apartment.

_Fine_, he thought bitterly. _Stay with Harris, if that's what you want. I don't care._

But he did, because if he didn't, it wouldn't hurt like it did.


	4. The Fire That Hurts

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter Four: The Fire That Hurts  
**

He didn't miss her. At least that's what he kept telling himself. He didn't burn for her, didn't wish she here, filling the room with her irritating chatter, her infuriating scent. He didn't miss her settling in her lap, nibbling at his ear before grabbing the remote control and turning over to some shopping channel. He was glad she wasn't here, 'cause now he could watch the _Passions_ marathon and then there was the few episodes of _Providence_, that he found quite interesting, what with the ghost mother and all...

He had moved out of the room as soon as he got home from his search for her. Grabbed all of his things and threw them onto his bed in his old room. Then, in a fit of blind rage, while the imagined moans of _his_ girl filled his head as he saw her writhing beneath _Xander bloody Harris_, he threw her things into some bags and dumped them by the door. And he had sat himself on the couch, with chips, dip and her chocolate spread before him on the coffee table neatly bordered with five cans of lager and two bottles of whisky. He had blown a load of money on that little lot. He sat watching _Passions_ and chain smoking to cover the smell of her that had managed to permeate every goddamned inch of the apartment.

Although he told himself he didn't want her, however much he said she was just a live-in screw, a shag that shared the rent and that she didn't really matter beyond that, he knew it wasn't true. In fact, he was constantly burning for her. One little look or the simple brushing of fingers was like fuel to the fire and the flame would flare within him until he couldn't see straight and he started to breath hard and fast.

He lit another cigarette and heaved his heavy boots back up onto the table, sinking down into the couch.

He didn't hear the key slide into the lock.

* * *

The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol hit her as she slipped inside, the theme tune to _Passions_ swirling down the hall. She hesitated, wondering if she should come back later. But where was she supposed to go? She couldn't go to Buffy's because her house was full and Tara wasn't there to talk to. And she obviously couldn't go to Xander's. She had spent the day at the shop and Xander had carefully avoided it, a fact of which she was glad.

But this was her home; she had as much right to be here as -

Spike was slumped in the couch, she stared at him as he gulped back some whiskey and rammed a handful of chips into his mouth. Instinctively, her eyes flickered to the curtains, they were tightly drawn, the final rays of sunlight filtering away.

Then her eyes fell on the empty space on the wall. There _had_ been a picture of her and Spike, grinning maniacally, so entwined even she couldn't tell where she ended and he began. Her eyes ran down the wall and saw the shattered remains of the frame and the dark green glass of a wine bottle, the white wine glistening over the photo.

She tried to pretend it didn't hurt her to see that. She tried to force herself beyond the sickening guilt. It had hit her, halfway through the day, that he must feel how she did when Xander left her. The thought had made her sick.

"Spike."

Her voice was small, carefully announcing her present. He turned in the couch, stared at her blankly and shifted back again.

"Spike," she said again, her voice soft and weak with tears. "Spike, please…"

"_Spike, please_," he mimicked in a high voice, then his voice became gruff. "Bugger off."

"I… I live here," as soon as the words left her lips, she realised just how very ridiculous that sounded.

"Not anymore," he answered, still not looking at her. "See, Anya, I put the deposit down on this place, I pay half the rent, more my place than it is yours."

"But… Where am I supposed to go?"

"Mmmm, I wonder," he turned away briefly. "How about _Xander fucking Harris_?"

"I'm not going there."

"Didn't stop you last night."

"I was angry last night, I didn't mean…"

"Shall I tell you a thing or two about anger?" he asked, getting up and pacing over to her. She cowered slightly, he was burning with suppressed anger and she could feel it. "Anger is what I'm feeling right now. Anger is what is making me want to rip your bloody head from your shoulders. Anger is what is keeping me up all day 'cause every time I close my eyes, I see you _shagging the bastard that left you._ Anger is what is making me hate you and I never thought I'd feel that, not about _you_. Tell me, Anya, are you glad you did it? Happy you can go back to your nice normal life? Was it a heartbeat you wanted? Heat? A man that _breathed_? 'Cause he sure as hell ain't got nothing else going for him. So what was it, Anya? What were you looking for, eh? _A fucking pulse_?" his voice rose, his yells echoing around the apartment.

"No," she whimpered.

"Then what the hell was it?"

"I wanted someone to want me," she whispered.

"Want you?_ Want_ you? Where have you been the past few months? Haven't I shown you just how much I want you every bloody day?"

"I didn't… I wanted… Can't we just… Go back?"

He blinked at her.

"You what?" he looked genuinely confused.

"You and me… Can't we get back together? I still love you, Spike, I do. It was a mistake. A stupid mistake and it'll never happen again. I swear, just give me another chance. That's all I'm asking."

"All?" he asked. "That's _all _you're asking? You're asking for everything!"

He pushed past her and grabbed her bags he had dumped by the door, thrusting them into her arms. He pulled a small wad of cash from the cookie jar on the kitchen sideboard and handed it to her.

"Goodbye, Anya," he answered.

"Spike, no, I -"

He dragged her keys from her hand and opened the door. He pushed her out of the apartment and slammed the door. She stood outside the door and stared up and down the empty hall.

"Spike?" she called. "Spike?"

He wasn't going to answer, why should he? She turned slowly and walked quietly to the staircase.

* * *

Her things were bunched under her arms, the money in her purse. She was heading down the street to the motel and sighed. Maybe she could go to LA; it worked for Spike when he left that time. God, she couldn't do this. She couldn't live in a damn motel. She'd never really been this alone before and she didn't know if she could do -

The hands snaked around her mouth and waist and with a sharp tug, yanked her back. The bags fell to the floor and she stumbled back.

_Great_, she thought._ I've got another vampire on my back._

_"Listen, pet. Vamp gets you from behind, you elbow 'em right in the gut, got it?"_

She heard the lesson roll through her mind and her elbow jabbed back, she twisted away from the vampire, taking advantage of his momentary shock.

He lunged forward as she started to run and she fell forward, catching herself on her hands and feeling her right arm give way beneath her. She reached out with her left hand and grabbed her purse, rolling over to beat the vampire over the head. He pulled back and glared at her.

_"Always keep a stake with you, Sunshine. You listening to me? Good, I don't want to lose you to some wanker vampire. Now, here's a stake, go put it in your purse now. Go on."_

She rummaged in her purse and wrapped her fingers around the thick wood of the stake. She drew it out and held it up as he leaned in to sink his fangs into her neck. She squeezed her eyes shut and didn't open them until she felt the dust sprinkle over her face and body.

She sat up slowly and brushed herself down, wincing as she tried to move her right arm. She pulled her bags toward her and pushed them under her arms and carried on down the street, right arm cradled against her chest, head bowed.

* * *

He'd been waiting for sunset. Now it had come, he could get the hell out of this damn place and not have to come back until Dawn, hopefully drunk enough to sleep until sunset.

Why he had to come to a one-club town like this, he didn't know. Ok, so he didn't have a major yin for LA, but at least if you looked hard enough, you could find an English pub with actual English beer. But no, he decided to come back to this stupid town. With it's stupid little kiddies club that didn't even sell the flowering onion anymore, dammit.

He pushed through the crowd of people, clutching what was laughingly called beer in one hand and sitting down heavily in a dark corner.

"Hi, Spike."

Great. Buffy. Fun, fun, fun. He _really_ didn't need this right now.

"I said, hi, Spike. Modern culture states that's it's polite for you to at least grunt a reply."

"I'm not in the mood, Buffy."

"I figured that. I dropped by the shop to see if Anya was around. Dawn said she was crying in the bathroom."

"So?"

Buffy raised her eyebrows and sat down beside him. Another time, he would have done anything to make her stay. But then again, another time, she would have walked on by. Oh, she would have tossed him a scathing comment, of course, let's not forget that. But here she was, and she wanted to bond.

"What's up?"

"Nothing."

"Then why aren't you and Anya making hay?"

"'Cause there's no more me and Anya."

* * *

Buffy stared at him at he finished the story, her mouth gaping, working to try and find words.

"Bloody hell, woman!" Spike said finally. "I've just told you that the woman I love screwed Xander because she thought I didn't want her and you're not saying a soddin' word."

"Why… Couldn't you have… The chip?"

"Huh?"

"The chip, why didn't you tell her you couldn't turn her 'cause of the chip? Wouldn't that have been easier than saying you didn't want to?"

"We're both talking about Anya here, right?"

"Um, yeah?"

"If I'd blamed the chip, the daft bint probably would have offered to slit her wrists and I could just drink, wouldn't have to hurt her, wouldn't have made any difference…. Anyway, I wanted her to get it…. I wanted her to understand that I couldn't kill her… Not for anything."

"If it's any consolation, Spike," Buffy said, covering his hand that rested on the table with hers. "I get it… I understand."

He stared at where her hand covered hers and sighed, struggling to force air into his lungs and back out again, wondering about the heat sprending up his arm.

"Yeah, love, I reckon you do."


	5. If You Had Been Faithful

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter Five: If You Had Been Faithful  
**

It was hypnotic, the folding, the careful laying of her clothing in the bags. If she could, she would have gone back to the apartment to get her suitcases, the pretty, matching blue ones, with wheels so she wouldn't have to carry it.

But it was pointless, going back to get her cases. Because she was going to win him back. She was going to fight. She accepted the blame for what happened, but she was going to make it right. The two of them had lived too many years in empty relationships where they loved the most to finish their relationship now. She knew about Drusilla. She knew he worshipped her, but it was always Angel for Dru. Xander had filled her in. They had been toasting his new place together and he had told her the story, mocking Spike cruelly. She hadn't said anything, she didn't think she should, but it had made her wonder. What was it about Spike that Xander hated so much? Why couldn't he see that Spike was trying to be a good person now?

Why couldn't he give Spike the benefit of the doubt?

She snorted. An unladylike sound that was absurdly loud in the small room. She hadn't given him the benefit of the doubt, she had just assumed that he didn't want her. For too many years she had listened to the same old story that countless women recounted, telling her how they had given their boyfriends or husbands chance after chance before calling in Anyanka.

She had lain in bed last night and thought rationally about what he had said. In a flash of sudden understanding, she realised he had been telling her how much he loved her. He didn't want to kill her because he _loved_ her. She had thought he didn't want her, when in fact it was because he wanted her that he wouldn't do it.

So she had gotton up early, had spent hours carefully folding her clothes, and re-packing the bags with her clothes, shoes, purses, nail varnish and make up. It had taken longer than usual because her right arm was bound in a sling after her tussle with the vampire last night.

Then she showered, dressed, and stood quietly in front of the mirror to apply her make-up and brush her hair with one hand.

She left her bags on the bed, ready for collection later that night because, as she told herself, they would be back together and dancing in the Bronze that evening.

But as she closed the door of the shabby motel - the one Faith had stayed in, according to Willow as they walked past it during the happy days of only a week ago - she wondered if that were true.

She wondered if it would be that easy to put back together again.

* * *

She was standing in the hall outside her apartment, staring at the door. Her hands shook as she pulled the key from her purse. She had gotton the spare from Willow who had handed it over, asking if she was ok. She had replied with her usual brightness that she was fine. Xander had walked up the drive as she had walked down it. Her heart had clenched and she had held her breath, allowing him to decide what would happen.

"Hi, Anya," he had said, his voice hesitant. "What happened to your arm?"

"Hey, Xander," she had answered with the same fake cheeriness she had used to talk to Willow. "I'm fine, it was a vampire, but it's ok. I'll see you later. 'Bye!"

She had hurried on past him and had felt his eyes on his back, but she ignored it and pushed him out of her mind.

Until now.

Now, all she could think of was Xander's touch, the way she had wantonly pulled her skirt off and guided his hands. And over all the images was Spike's face, the wide-eyed look of disbelief. The way a steel door had slammed down behind his blue eyes to create a barrier between them. She didn't remember because she treasured the memory, but because it repulsed her. It didn't repulse her because it was Xander, in no way did it really have anything to do with him, it repulsed her because she had been unfaithful. Above all things, she valued faithfulness. Yet she had been the one who strayed.

She gulped, and pushed the key into the lock. She went into the apartment and noted the broken photo frame on the floor with the smashed wine bottle. The empty alcohol bottles were still on the coffee table, the remnants of one can of lager spilled across the table, soaking the chips that lay scattered over the table top over the remainder of the chocolate bar.

She tiptoed over to the bedroom; if Spike was asleep she would heat him up some blood and wake him up gently. That way, maybe sleep, the blood and the sight of her arm would pacify him long enough to allow her to talk to him. She eased the door open and frowned, the room was empty. He must have moved back to him old room. With a small shrug, she turned and opened the door to her right.

For a second, the image didn't register. She saw what she expected. Spike sleeping quietly, the dark sheets low on his naked body.

When her mind grasped what her eyes saw, she realised he was indeed sleeping and naked.

But he wasn't alone.

Buffy's head lay on his chest, his arm slung around her waist, her hair tossed over his chest. The sheets were pulled up to just cover their lower bodies, but Anya could see that their legs were tangled.

_"We fought, we shagged, she left…. She always leaves."_

Isn't that what he had said that time he and Tara came to find her at that motel? Wasn't it? Then why was she still here? She was supposed to leave after they…. That's what he said, _"She always leaves."_ So _why_ was she still there?

She could have stood there forever and not have realised it. In fact, it was only a few moments before a tiny sound escaped her lips. Spike muttered something and shifted, causing Buffy to curl tighter around him. His eyes fluttered open and his gaze fixed on her. He moved quickly, sitting up and sliding back against the headboard. It jolted Buffy out of her sleep and she glared up at him before she froze. Staring at him, she turning her head slowly. Her hand darted out and tugged the black satin sheet up to protect her modesty.

"Oh, God," she said. "Anya, I… This isn't what it looks like…"

"What is it then?" Anya directed her painfully cold question at Spike. He shook his head and it fell forward onto his chest.

"Anya… I didn't… Just…"

"Shut up, Buffy," Anya snapped. "Well, Spike? What happened? You obviously didn't have sex because according to Buffy, this isn't what it looks like. So, what the hell is this?"

"Anya," Spike started. "What are you doing here?"

"I was here to apologise for what I did to you. I felt bad. Do you?" her voice broke and her face crumbled in a vain attempt to hold in the tears. "You're supposed to love me! Not her! She called you nothing, Spike! What about me?"

"I'm sorry, Anya," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

"You know, I'll just go so you two can talk," Buffy scrambled out of bed, holding the sheet to her chest and grabbed her clothes from where they lay scattered over the floor. She slipped into her jeans and shirt, clutching her ripped underwear as she approached the door and Anya.

Anya glared at her, the strong Slayer who stood in front of her, her head bowed and her face a bright crimson. She felt a surge of empowerment; the Slayer was cowed because of her, Anya.

"Anya, I'm sorry," she said. "Could I just go and you two can -"

Almost of its own accord, Anya's hand swung up and slapped Buffy hard enough to leave a bright red mark on her left cheek.

"Get out," she hissed. "I don't ever want to see you again. Ever."

She thought Buffy would cry and a sadistic part of her rose up and hoped she would because Anya would _love_ to see the Slayer cry. But Buffy just sniffed and nodded, scooting around Anya and leaving the room. Anya could hear her crying as she ran out of the apartment. _Good,_ she thought.

She cast Spike once more glance, turned around, and walked calmly back into the living room. She walked carefully around the apartment, picking up stray items that belonged to her and pretending she was alone in the apartment.

"Anya."

She looked over at him briefly; he stood in the door of his old room in black jeans and shirt. She clutched a cushion she had bought and two small ornate boxes she had bought because they were beautiful. And decorated in red and black, Spike's favourite colours.

"Goodbye, Spike," she answered flatly and turned away.

"What happened to your arm?" he reached out and she flinched away. "Are you all right?"

"Fine. It was vampire. Attacked me while I was trying to find a motel," he bowed his head in shame at this.

"It didn't mean anything," he started, looking up. "I was upset after you and Harris. You saw me, I was getting drunk all day…" he carried on talking as she made the way to the door, following her, his hand outstretched but falling short of actually touching her. "I went to the Bronze. I was pissed, Anya. Buffy was there; she didn't have a date… We were talking… She got drunk… We were drunk as hell; it didn't mean anything… I was _drunk_, Sunshine -"

"Don't call me that," she hissed. "And don't you dare say you were drunk. _I _was drunk, what _I_ did didn't mean anything. I'm not in love with Xander anymore. I was never as in love with him as you were with Buffy. So don't tell me that meant nothing to you, Spike, because she didn't leave, she stayed and slept in your arms!"

"But I did it because you hurt me and I -"

The cushion and trinkets fell to the floor as, in the same way it had last night, Spike's voice echoed in her mind.

_"Here, not like that, love. Clench your fist like this… Yeah like that. Now just hit, go on, just - ow!"_

Her small fist connected to his damned cheekbone in a spectacular left hook.

"Goodbye, Spike," she repeated and walked out of the apartment as he clutched his face.

She supposed she'd have to unpack her bags now.


	6. Looking for Trouble

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter Six: Looking For Trouble  
**

She was sick of the tiny motel room. She had toyed with the idea of going out for a coffee, maybe giving Tara a call on her cell. She decided against that idea though as she knew she would only end up spilling the entire story to her and she didn't want to ruin her educational trip thing or whatever it was. She had also thought about going to Buffy's. She thought if she spoke to her, tried to see what happened, what led to the two of them… But she soon put a lid on that idea.

Anyway, Spike hadn't tried to understand why she slept with Xander. Why should she try and understand? As far as she was concerned, it was over. She still had her job and any day now she would have a nice apartment of her own. And she had her friends, Willow was nice and Tara was her best friend.

_No she isn't_, Anya thought suddenly. _She was _our_ best friend. And anyway, she'll probably side with Spike; they're closer after all._

Then the glorious idea of just leaving entered her head. She could go to LA, she had considered it her first night in the motel but now it was close. So rich with promise she could almost taste it. She could go to Angel Investigations. According to Spike, the filing system was a complete nightmare and everyone was pretty friendly. She could be their receptionist. She was very good with paperwork and if there was one thing she did know, it was her demons, legends and myths.

But what good had running away done her before? She had just sat in a motel in the middle of nowhere for days on end and missed Xander, her shop, her life. So she had decided against running away.

Instead, she decided to dance.

* * *

He was sick of the apartment. Someone like him shouldn't be cooped up. He should be out. He had grabbed his coat and cigarettes and pulled the door open, intending to go to the Bronze.

Then he remembered how spectacularly wrong that went last time.

He gulped hard and looked over toward his room. For the first time, he had Buffy how he wanted her. Except he wanted her like that a long time ago. Before Anya. He took a moment to marvel at how monumentally bad his luck was. Just when he was happy, his girl went and screwed a whelp and the woman he loved a while back suddenly seemed to not actually mind shagging him.

He lit a cigarette and leaned back against a table pushed against the wall. There was a small _chink_ as the vase of flowers tilted back. He stood away and looked at the table.

_"God, this hallway's dreary! Couldn't you two liven it up….? Oh, that doesn't matter, Tara. Look! I got flowers!"_

In front of the flowers, arranged artfully to one side, was a medium sized brown frame. Inside it was a receipt from the Magic Box.

_"The first one I ever rang up."_

He leaned against the wall opposite and slid down the wall. The flowers had started to wilt pretty soon after she left. He'd tried water, even some of that stuff she poured in the water to keep them alive a bit longer. Nothing had worked and he hadn't the heart to throw them out. He wasn't exactly surprised they lost their will to live. He was dead man, what experience did he have in keeping things alive? He killed, he didn't nurture. _Probably why she left you, mate._

He sighed and pulled his knees up. He put his arms up on his knees and leaned his head against the thumb of the hand that held his cigarette, the smoke curling up above his head.

He had succeeded in driving her scent out of the apartment. All he could smell now was alcohol, smoke and the heavy scent of sex. He couldn't even smell her if he concentrated hard on it. It was too late now though to realise he wanted that scent. Too late now because he had gotton rid of it through his own stupidity.

He lifted his head and drew on his cigarette. The phone jolted him back to life and he jumped, reaching blindly to pull himself up and grab the phone off the wall in the kitchen.

"What?"

"Spike? You ok?"

"Oh, it's you, Glinda."

"I just wondered if you had found Anya. I'm on the bus now, I'll be home in a couple of hours. I was going to ask if you two wanted to go out with Willow and I."

"Nah."

"Why not? Oh, don't tell me. Make up snuggles?"

"No."

"What? Spike, what's going on?"

"Nothing you need to worry about, love. She's all right, I found her at Xander's. She hurt her arm the other night, but I think Will can fill you in on that front as I'm off out."

"Xander's? What was she doing there?"

"Ask her."

"Spike, what are you -"

"Sorry, pet, gotta go. I'm due for a game of kitten poker and the rent's due so I need to get there early. I'll see ya tomorrow, all right, Glinda?"

"Sure, Spike. I'll call Anya and ask if she wants to stop by."

"You do that. Bye."

"Bye."

He slammed the phone back into the wall and grabbed his stake.

He was a dead man. He couldn't keep things alive.

Good job that patrolling didn't require keeping the nasties alive.

* * *

She was sick of the Bronze.

She wanted to go home.

Which, obviously, she couldn't do because she didn't have one anymore.

She had come to dance, but instead she had sat at the bar and stared around at the tables, wondering which one they sat at. She looked at the dance floor, wondering where Buffy and Spike had stood to bump 'n' grind. But what if the music was soft and romantic, just how close did they hold each other?

She shuddered and stood up from her table. She was going back to the motel. Sitting and crying was more fun than sitting here and thinking.

She pushed through the crowd and was near the door when she heard her name.

"Anya! Anya, wait!"

She turned slowly and looked at Willow who stood a few feet away, nibbling her lip and twisting her fingers.

"Hi, Willow," Anya said, her voice making it quite clear that she wasn't pleased to see her.

"How… Um, how are you?" Willow asked, eyeing her warily.

Anya's stomach lurched. Why was Willow looking at her like that? It was almost like she didn't trust her. But why should Willow trust her? Anya had slept with her best friend and slapped her other best friend. And she knew Willow had acquired a certain affection for Spike since she and Tara got back together. She also knew, she had known for a long time, that she wasn't Willow's favourite person. So why should Willow trust her? Why should she care? Why should anyone anymore? Anya looked beyond Willow and saw Buffy watching discreetly from a table.

"I'm fine," Anya said. "No thanks to _her_."

Willow winced and reached out to rub Anya's arm. She flinched away and glowered at Willow.

"Leave me alone. She's your friend. Not me."

"No, Anya, you're both…"

"Goodbye, Willow," Anya said loudly and turned on her heel, pushing out of the heat of the club into the cool night air.

She walked down the street towards home and jumped when her cell phone jangled into life. Grabbing it out of her pocket, she answered it and greeted her caller with a snappish "Hello?"

"It's me, Anya."

"Oh," Anya's voice softened. "Hi, Tara."

"I've just got home. No one's in and I wondered if you wanted to come over and have a chat. Y'know, catch up. A lot can happen in the five days I've been away, especially on the Hellmouth. So…?"

"Sure. Ok. I'll see you in a while," Anya's voice was flat and she was sure Tara noticed, but she didn't say anything.

"Great. I'll see you, Anya."

"Bye, Tara."

Anya put her cell phone back into her pocket and turned into a cemetery as a short cut. The screwed up logic of walking in a graveyard in the middle of the night on the Hellmouth didn't really occur to her. And if it did, she didn't seem to care.

* * *

Spike glowered at shadows, trees, and gravestones. Where were the demons? Where was the evil? Right now, the only thing that was keeping him going was the fact that he could kill something. He craved violence. He _needed_ to slash something to pieces, dust something or snap a neck. God, he wanted to snap a neck. Feel the demon tremble in the moment of knowing it had lost the fight before his hands moved and the neck crumbled along with the demon.

But of course, when you go looking for trouble, you rarely find it. He idly let his mind wander, figuring if he let his guard drop, something would pop up. Stupid thing to do, really. Now all he could think about was seeing Anya and Xander. Then his mind filled with his night with Buffy. A night so different from their other nights. That night she actually seemed to care, actually seemed to want him. She didn't leave either, something Anya noticed.

_"Don't tell me that meant nothing to you, Spike, because she didn't leave, she stayed and slept in your arms!"_

He shuddered and sighed, running a hand over his hair.

Ahead of him, he heard the slow crunch of someone walking over the grass towards him. A smile caught the edges of his lips and he twirled his stake, swaggering toward the sound.

He froze when he saw the petite blonde in pink. Her head lifted and her eyes sparkled for a second before they dulled down and her mouth drew into an aggrieved pout.

"You and Buffy broke up already?" she asked coldly.

"What about you and Xander?" he sneered in return. "He left you again?"

"We were never an item, Spike!" she shouted. "How many times do I have to tell you that?"

"How many times do I have to tell you that I slept with Buffy because I was _drunk_? How many times do I have to say it didn't mean anything?"

"Me and Xander didn't mean anything! You didn't believe _me _then, why should I believe _you_ now?"

"You started this, Anya!"

"No, _you_ started this, Spike! You didn't even care that you upset me when you said you wouldn't turn me! You just pushed me away! You never loved me, did you? You were just with me because Buffy didn't want you! Because she never wanted you!"

"Oh, and Xander did, did he? He left you at the altar because he loved you so very much. He didn't come to find you afterwards because he cared. I came after you with Tara because I couldn't give a damn. When are you gonna grow up and see things how they really are?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" she snapped.

"It's supposed to mean I can't believe I've been with you this long!"

She resisted the urge to press her hand to her mouth to prevent herself being sick. He didn't just say that. He _did not_ just say that.

"You bastard!" she screamed, tears raining down her face. "I knew it! You never cared about me! Ever! You asshole! I loved you so much and for some stupid reason, I still do! You were everything to me! You still _are_ everything to me, if you weren't, it wouldn't hurt like this! I don't know why I wasted the last few months on you of all people, when you're not even a person!"

"Well, you don't have to worry about that anymore, do you?" he retorted, his voice wavering slightly after her screamed confession. "This is what I mean, Anya! You really know how to break a guy, don't you? I had to get with the one woman in the world who knows a man's weaknesses and doesn't care about going for 'em. That's why you slept with Xander, to teach me a lesson! And you're wrong! I do love you. I love you like I've never loved anyone, but I can't stand to be near you! That's what you've done! So, I hurt you! I apologised. But you started this! All of this is because you couldn't have your own goddamned way!"

"Don't you blame me! If you hadn't made such a big deal out of me asking you to turn me, this wouldn't have happened!"

"No! If you had made the effort to understand why I couldn't turn you instead of leaping into Harris's arms, this wouldn't be happening! We wouldn't be here!" he dropped his head, fighting the sickening sensation of tears that churned in his gut. He swallowed hard and looked up, meeting her eyes, watching the tears continue to wind their way down her cheeks. He sighed and shook his head. "Just… Just go back to your motel, Anya. Leave me alone. Let's call this the end. I don't want to fight with you anymore. I don't want any of this anyone. This is it, Anya, it's really over."

"Spike," she started, wanting desperately to make him change his mind. "You… You want this over?"

"I want _this _over. The fighting. I just want all of it to go away."

"You want me to go away too?" her voice was soft, making him gulp hard.

"Anya, I…" he took a few steps toward her, his hand outstretched, stopping just inches of cupping her cheek. He swallowed, coughed self-consciously and dropped his hand. "I'll miss you, Sunshine."

She stared and him as he turned around and began to walk away.

She watched him go. She would always remember the look in those eyes when he said he'd miss her. She would always remember the pain she felt at that moment, mainly because she wasn't sure the pain would ever stop and she wasn't sure how she was supposed to cope with it. She could hardly breathe, the force of her tears was choking her. Her legs shook, but somehow, she didn't have the energy to allow herself to crumble beneath the weight of her sorrow.

When she finally saw him leave the cemetery, she started slowly in the direction of the Summers' house to see Tara.

* * *

"Oh, Anya," Tara wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder as Anya wailed. "That happened tonight?"

"Yeah, before I came here. Tara, it's really over. That's it. No more me and Spike."

"Ssshhh, Anya, it's ok. It'll be ok. You want to stay here tonight?"

"What? No!" Anya pushed away from her. "No way! I'm not staying anywhere near her!"

"Ok, ok. Well, do you want me to stay with you tonight?"

"No, no, you don't have to do that."

The phone broke shrilly through their conversation and Tara hurried to answer it.

"Hello, Summers' residence."

"Hey, Tara. It's me, Dawn. Look, I snuck out to see if Spike was all right, ok? Is Anya still there?"

"What? Yes, she is. What did you think you were -"

"Sssshhh! Get her out of the room, Tara! I've got a plan."

"Oh, right," covering the phone, Tara turned to smile at Anya. "It's a friend of mine, Anya. Why don't you go get a drink and wait for me in the kitchen? I'll try and get rid of her."

Anya nodded and wandered into the kitchen with a loud sniff.

"Dawn? She's gone. You know you're gonna be grounded when you get home, right?"

"Don't worry about that now! We have to get them back together, Tara. Look, can you get Anya to the apartment in about… fifteen minutes?"

"Um, I don't know… What am I supposed to tell her?"

"Tell her…. Tell her you'll go with her to get the last of her things."

"Ok. What are you gonna do?"

"Meet you there with Spike."

"Oh. I see. Well, I'll see in fifteen minutes then."

"Yeah. Thanks for this, Tara."

"Don't worry about it. But this doesn't mean I've forgotten about the grounding."

"Yeah, yeah. Bye then."

"Bye."

Tara replaced the receiver and nibbled her lip. This really wasn't going to work. She was no good at this sort of thing. She took a deep breath and entered the kitchen.

"Hey, Anya? How about we go get the last of your things from the apartment? Y'know, make a nice clean break?"

"You think I should?"

"I'll go with you, nothing bad will happen."

"You promise?"

"I promise," Tara answered, crossing her fingers behind her back.


	7. It's Called Blackmail

_**Two To Tango**_  
**Chapter Seven: It's Called Blackmail  
**

"I don't think this is such a good idea," Anya said, as Tara closed the door behind them and thrust her keys back into her bag.

"I t-think it is," Tara said. "You can move right out of there and it's all over. You can begin the healing process," she slipped her arm through Anya's and they started off toward the apartment.

"But I didn't leave anything! And if I did, Spike's already done a search and destroy."

"Well… Spike was upset. You were upset. You both might have overlooked something. And anyway… I want to see him…. I-I haven't seen him in three days and I should make sure that he's…."

"Ok?" Anya finished, fixing her best friend with a knowing look.

"I didn't mean it like that, Anya. I j-just -"

"Why are you stuttering?" Anya asked suddenly. Then she felt that familiar feeling, the same one from earlier, in the Bronze when confronted with Willow. Her stomach fell to her feet and her body floated away, leaving her with the twisted feeling of not belonging. "You blame me too, don't you? You hate me for hurting Spike! Just like Willow and Xander! None of you trust me anymore!"

"Anya. Anya, calm down!" Tara grabbed her arm and drew her to a halt. "I don't hate you! You're my best friend, Anya. But… The problem is, Spike's my best friend too. I care about you both. I hate seeing you this way… Why do you think I'm helping you with this? B-but I have to be there for Spike too. You understand?"

"Yeah, I understand. But you'll be here for me too, right?"

"Of course I will, sweetie," Tara smiled and carried on walking, tugging Anya after her, "now, come on. Knowing Spike, he'll be out now, so we can go back and get your things without any problems, ok?"

"I don't have a key anymore," Anya answered flatly.

"Well, it's completely unethical and totally wrong, but I suppose I could use some magic," Tara grinned mischievously and was rewarded with only a half hearted, grim smile.

"Can't you just magic this all away instead?"

"Oh, Anya," Tara pulled her arm from Anya's and wrapped it around her shoulders, giving her a squeeze. "I wish I could, sweetie, I really wish I could."

* * *

Spike frowned at Dawn and raised his eyebrows. His mouth worked but no sound came out as he stared in absolute disbelief at the younger Summers. There was no way he heard her say that. He really should give up trying to understand the Summers' women, seeing as they were irredeemably incomprehensible. And they could come up with the most stupid ideas sometimes. "_Coffee_?" he asked. "Have you lost your bloody mind?"

"No," Dawn answered firmly, grabbing his elbow and yanking it hard, tugging it out from under him, causing his face to nearly smash into the bar top. She carried on pulling, practically dragging him off his stool. "Come on, Spike. We're getting you home and you're having coffee."

"I'm not having any soddin' coffee!" he cried. "I came out to get rat-arsed," he lifted his hand, waving it in front of his face. "And this doesn't make me feel sick yet, so I'm not rat-arsed. I'm not going back there."

She swallowed a scream of frustration and glanced at her watch. Tara was the world's worst liar and wouldn't be able to keep Anya at the apartment for long. She let go of his arm and put her hands on her hips, glaring at him.

"Yes, you damn well are!" she replied hotly.

He stared at her again.

"Who gave you permission to talk like me?" he asked. "And who gave you permission to bloody swear?"

"Well, you make me crazy, Spike!" she sighed. "Can't you just go home, even if you don't get all sobery?"

"Fine," he said, pressing his hands into the bar to push himself off the stool. "I'm coming, hang on -" his foot caught in the leg of the stool and he stumbled forward, hitting the floor hard enough to make Dawn wince.

She giggled slightly when he groaned, the sound muffled by the wood flooring. She bent down and smiled as he lifted his head.

"What did you say about not being _'rat-arsed'_?" she asked.

* * *

She closed the door quietly behind her, running her hand over the wall, trying to find the light switch. Anya reached out and clicked the light on. Tara pulled her hand away from the wall and eyed Anya warily as she looked around the room.

"He hasn't cleaned up," Anya said, her voice unreadable. "At least I don't have to do it anymore, right?"

"What? Oh, yeah, right," Tara pulled off her bag and dropped it into a chair.

"I guess I'll go look for my things," Anya sighed and walked over to her room, glancing at Spike's room with a blank face.

"Ok, you do that. I'll… make a drink… or something," Tara said, wringing her hands. "Oh, c'mon, Dawn. Where are you?"

She grabbed her bag, searching for her cell phone when she heard the sound of people coming along the hall. She froze and listened to the voices.

"… Will you at least _try _and walk in a straight line?"

"I am walking in a straight line! It's just a little bent, that's all - oof!"

"Will you watch what you're doing? And be quiet, it's late, you'll annoy the neighbours."

Tara smiled briefly and flicked off the lights, hurrying toward Anya's room, only banging into three pieces of furniture. She stumbled into Anya's room and closed the door, smiling inanely.

"Found anything?" she asked brightly, hoping that if she got Anya talking, she wouldn't hear Dawn and Spike.

"Yeah. I found some underwear," she waved the black satin underwear. "It was my favourite. And I found half a pack of gum. It's not mine, I don't like spearmint," she frowned at the packet before slipping it into her pocket. "But I'll take it anyway. I don't think there's anything else…"

The sound of the door opening made Tara jump and she fell to the floor suddenly, pushing her hand under the bed.

"Tara, what on earth are you doing?"

"Looking under the bed," she answered. "You could have left something. Help me out, Anya."

Tara looked up and saw a look of horror on Anya's face. She rose slowly and shook Anya's shoulder gently.

"He's back," Anya whispered. "Oh, God, what am I going to do?"

"Ok… Um, right, don't panic. I'll go talk to him. Don't panic, ok? Everything will be fine. Don't panic."

"I'm not the one panicking!" Anya hissed. "Oh, please, Tara, do something!"

"Ok, I'm doing something," she patted Anya's shoulder awkwardly and left the room.

"Dawn! What the hell is that? You don't actually expect me to _eat_ that, do - myaoou!"

"It's just a cracker, Spike. It'll stop your barf being too icky. Oh, don't be so childish, Spike! Just _chew_!"

Tara smiled slightly and pushed the kitchen door open quietly. She waved frantically from over Spike's shoulder to catch Dawn's attention. Dawn turned away from the sink, holding a plate between her thumb and index finger with a look of utter disgust.

"My God, Spike! Did you not hear of the invention of the dishwasher? Or did you just -" she noticed Tara and nodded slowly. "I really need to pee, Spike, so you just stay there and I'll be back in a minute. Just carry on chewing, Spike."

She ran to the other side of the kitchen, bundling Tara out of the kitchen in front of her. She opened the front door and slipped out, followed by Tara.

"How're we gonna keep them in there?" Dawn asked.

"I could use magic," Tara said, nibbling her lip. "But I'm not sure if that would be…"

"Tara!" Dawn snapped in a low voice, "this is Spike and Anya. Just do it!"

"Ok, ok," they slammed the door shut; alerting both people inside of their departure and Tara sealed it closed in a flash of orange light and a few muttered words of Latin.

"Suddenly, I'm wondering if this is a good plan," Dawn said, shifting her weight.

"Well, if they don't get back together, what's the worst that could happen?" Tara asked uncertainly, her gaze fixed on the door.

"They could kill each other?"

"Oh. Right. There is that."

* * *

"Tara? Has he gone? We should go now. Tara? Tara?"

Anya frowned around the living room and stomped over to the kitchen where a light shone from under the door. "Tara are you in herraaaahh!"

She almost fell backward as Spike walked out of the kitchen. His arm flashed out and grabbed her wrist, steadying her. When he realised who it was, his eyes widened and he cursed in a flurry of crumbs.

"Whuff oo dofin ere?" he spluttered.

She brushed the crumbs off her and shot him a look, a perfect balance between anger and disgust. He really had to marvel at it. Only his girl could do that. Well, his ex-girl, anyway. He swallowed the damned crackers with a concentrated effort that almost brought tears to his eyes.

"What the hell are you doin' here?" he asked. "Where's Dawn?"

"Dawn?" she asked. "I want to know where Tara is!"

"Oh, bloody hell," he moaned. "We've been had. Soddin' women! Why do you bitches torture me? Dawn! Tara! Open the door!"

"No!" Dawn yelled back defiantly, despite her earlier hesitation.

"Spike, Anya," Tara said, a calming note to her voice that had no effect of the couple on the other side of the door. "We're sorry about this, but it had to be done. The door has been sealed with magic, so you needn't bother trying to break it down, Spike. We're only going to let you out when you two have talked!"

"That's blackmail!" Anya yelled.

"I know," a typically teenage giggle could be heard. One that Spike recognised as the one that meant Dawn knew she had someone on the ropes. "Great, huh?"


	8. Honesty Box

**_Two To Tango_**  
**Chapter Eight: Honesty Box**

Anya sat down stiffly and regarded Spike distantly. He was still staring in abject disbelief at the door and had been for the past couple of minutes. He kicked at the door and growled.

"Weren't you listening when Tara said she sealed it with magic?" Anya asked, her voice weighted with superiority.

"Worth a try," he muttered, kicking again but this time half-heartedly. "Least I didn't just give up."

"Funny," she replied. "I thought that was what you were good at."

He stared at her and snorted, sinking into a chair opposite her.

"Well," she started after a moment's silence. "As they won't let us out until we've talked, I suppose we should talk."

"No," he answered shortly.

Her mouth swung open and she gaped at him.

"I thought you were desperate to get outta here?" Anya asked.

"I am," he returned, not looking at her. "But if I talk to you, I'm giving into them. They'll let us out in a little while, whether we've talked or not. And I don't intend to give 'em the satisfaction of doing what they say. No offence, it's got nothing to do with you."

Anya blinked at him. _Great, _she huffed silently, sinking back into her chair, crossing her arms. _This is gonna be one looong night…_

* * *

Buffy opened the door with a sigh and smiled weakly at Xander.

"Oh, hey, Xander. What's up?"

"Up?" he asked. "Not me, pretty down actually. Felt like some company and I asked myself, 'Who do I know that would be up at this time of night?' I figured, 'Aha! The Slayer!' Which would be you, which would be why I'm here. But y'know… If you're about to go into bed…. I could… go."

"No, Xander," she grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside. "I could do with some company too. Willow went to bed and Tara's gone out… with um, Anya…"

"Oh, you heard?" he asked, sinking into a couch and avoiding her eyes.

"Willow told me…"

"I would have told you, only I figured you had enough to deal with."

"Thanks," she answered, flopping down beside him. "Have you got too much to deal with?"

"Beside sleeping with my ex and wandering around wondering if Spike's gonna top me?"

"Yeah," Buffy smiled slightly. "Besides that."

"Nope. Free as a bird, no worries," his voice told otherwise though, laden and heavy. "Why?"

"You're not the only one replaying the past in the er… bedroom."

Xander raised his eyebrows and shifted around.

"Riley's back?"

"Er, no," Buffy answered.

"You didn't boink Angel again, did you?" he asked incredulously.

"What? No! Of course not, Angel's in LA. Jeez, Xander!"

"Ok, ok. Fine. So, Parker?"

"Parker Abrams? God, no. Like I'd go there again. Anyway, I heard he's gay now."

"What? You didn't know that before?"

"Haha, Xander."

"So who did you 'replay the past' with?"

Buffy bowed her head. She had gone too far to turn it into a joke now. She knew Xander would go nuts but she wanted to talk about it. At least Xander would understand, after all, he slept with Anya.

"Buffy…?"

"Spike," she said quietly, then looked up and met his eyes, adding strength to her voice. "I slept with Spike. Again."

"Oh," Xander answered. He swallowed hard and stared at the TV in an effort to control the rage bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Then he turned his gaze back on Buffy. "Why?"

"You… You aren't…?"

"Surprised? No. Willow told me."

"Why?" Buffy demanded. _Willow _told _him?_

"You two were being weird, I said I was gonna ask what was going on and Willow panicked. It's ok, Buffy, I've dealt with it. Worked through the rage. I built two cabinets on that rage. Wanna talk about it?"

His sudden question threw her and she paused before answering. Before she answered, she reminded herself that Xander would understand, she sometimes thought he understood things better than Willow. He seemed to have a knack for listening to what she didn't say. She should have told him before, she should have known he would make an effort to understand.

It was just that Spike was such a touchy subject with Xander. When Spike and Anya first got together, Xander had hated Spike more than ever, but lately he had seemed to accept, even asking Spike to play pool with him once at the Bronze. Buffy hadn't wanted to do anything to upset the tenuous trust they had built.

"I er… Yeah, yeah ok. Sure you don't mind?"

"Mind? Hey, I'm all about screwed up relationships. Go on, talk away."

Buffy was silently for a moment, then slipped her hand into Xander's. He squeezed gently and smiled. He swallowed once more in preparation and she was eternally grateful for his silence on the subject.

"It started just after I came back…"

* * *

She had crossed her legs and her foot was jerking madly as her fingers drummed on her arm. He was aware of the danger signs, but had been on the receiving end of her temper often enough not to mind. Besides, he was well practised in calming her down. He winced. The only way he had ever found that calmed her down was gentle kisses along her jugular. He lit a cigarette and puffed, avoiding looking at her.

"Spike," she said suddenly. "I'm not sitting here waiting for them to open the door!"

"Fine," he answered. "You dig out your cauldron then and set about removing the spell. I'll keep out of your way."

"You…!" she spluttered. "Why are you being like this?"

"Like I said, it's nothing personal, I just don't wanna give them two the satisfaction of doing what they say."

"So you're perfectly happy to stay here, are you?" she demanded, getting up and bearing down on him with her hands on her hips.

"'S'no big deal," he shrugged, taking the cigarette away from his mouth so he didn't have to breath. He avoided looking at her too. Why she had to get this close he had no idea, but he closed off his senses so he wouldn't have to smell her. He had noticed he could no longer detect Xander's scent on her, but that didn't mean there was any need to go looking for it.

"Yes, it is a big deal!" she replied heatedly. "I don't really like the idea of having to spend God knows how long stuck in here with you!"

He looked up at her and she took a tiny step back. His voice, when he spoke was measured and calm, but his eyes gave away the sting of pain he received from her words.

"You never used to mind," he said dully. "In fact, a few days ago, you would've welcomed this."

"A few days ago, you didn't hate me," she answered quietly.

"Who said I hated you?" he asked immediately, almost interrupting her in his haste to ask the question.

"You did," she replied, she cleared her throat in an attempt to be dramatic and make this whole situation somehow less real. "You said, 'Anger is what is making me hate you.'"

She turned and walked into the kitchen, leaving him with a still burning cigarette and an open mouth.

* * *

"Why didn't you tell me about it, Buffy?" Xander sighed. "I could've helped. Hell, if you really wanted to be with Spike, I would've _tried_ to accept it."

"I know," she whispered. "But I was scared. Telling you guys would make it real. I'd have to face the fact that I was hurting him and myself. I'd have to admit to hating being here. I wasn't ready."

"You hate being here?" Xander asked in a low voice.

"Hated," she replied. "I'm glad I'm back now. Heaven was… I can't describe it. This place compared to there is Hell. I can't change that. But I can make it better, I hope. And anyway, here the pain lets you know you're alive. The friendships and love is what makes this place worthwhile. People like you make this place worthwhile."

"We've really screwed up, haven't we?" he asked with a slight smile. "Out of all of us, only Will and Tara are happy. Spike and Anya, we pretty much saw the end of that. And you and me are disaster areas when it comes to affairs of the heart."

"Affairs of the heart?" Buffy asked, raising her eyebrows. "Have you been watching mushy movies again?"

"No," he returned, shifting uncomfortably. "I was making a point, Buffy, a serious point."

"Ooo, it's Kodak moment," she giggled. She swallowed the giggle though when she saw his face. "I'm sorry, please continue."

"I was just gonna ask if you think we'll ever get anywhere in this whole love thing."

"I dunno," she sighed. "Sometimes I think that I want to have someone more than anything. Other times I think I'm ok for now with Dawn and you guys."

"Yeah, I guess. I just got used to it, y'know?"

"Used to what?"

"Being with someone. Having someone there when I woke up, eating breakfast with, doing the whole 'Honey, I'm home,' routine. I got used to it."

"What's it like?" Buffy asked, tilting her head to one side and studying him with an intensely interested face.

"What's what like?" he asked, slightly embarrassed to be beneath the full weight of her gaze.

"To be in a relationship like that. The closest I came to that was with Riley, but what's it like to share everything with someone? To wake up with them, go to bed with them? What's it like?"

He chuckled, slightly wrong-footed. He didn't have any idea how to answer the question. He didn't know if he could put into words the stability of it. The certainty of knowing the place wouldn't be empty, that you'd be greeted with a smile. He didn't know how to explain what it felt like to wake up with someone in your arms you loved and who loved you too.

So he went for a typically Xander like answer:

"Why don't you be my girlfriend and find out?"

"I don't think that's such a bad idea."

He looked at her, expecting a wide grin that would dissolve into laughter when he met her eyes. Instead, he saw a completely serious look and something in her eyes that was different and new. Something that looked like she was seeing him for the first time. Something that looked like she saw more than just a friend.

So he reached out, slid a hand around her neck and pulled her into a kiss.

Truth be told, he had been wanting this since he hit the rail when he saw her that first day back at school almost seven years ago.

* * *

Spike strode into the kitchen after her. She was making herself a cup of tea, toying with the mug as she waited for the kettle to boil.

"You remembered that?" he asked.

"I remembered all of it," she replied calmly, not turning to face him. "I remember you said you wanted to rip my head from my shoulders. I remember you said you were so angry you couldn't sleep because every time you closed your eyes, you saw me and Xander. I remember you thought I was happy, you thought I wanted a normal life, a man with a heartbeat, a pulse. I remember you said I was asking for everything. You were right. I _was_ asking for everything, because that's what I _wanted_. I wanted you again and you wouldn't even _try_, Spike."

He had moved toward as she spoke, moved forward more quickly when he heard her voice break over her last sentence.

"Anya? Are you - Are you crying?"

"What do you think?" she cried, turning around and scrubbing furiously at her face. "You think I could just leave this relationship and not care? I cry _all the time_, Spike! All the time!"

"Hey, hey," he said, taking her shoulder gently. "It's ok, it's ok."

"No!" she shouted, pushing against him. "It's not ok! Nothing's ok and you don't even care!"

"I care," he returned hotly. "I care, ok? You think just 'cause I don't burst into tears all the time, I don't care? Maybe you never really knew me."

"I knew you," she said. "I did, I do. I know you care. I'm sorry, it's just…" she wiped her eyes again. "I can't see anyway around this. And I… I want to go back," her voice was lost in sobs and he took her shoulder again, squeezing gently. "I want to go back," she sobbed. "This is all your fault!" she wailed, hitting his chest. "If you could have tried to understand! Why didn't you come after me when I left! Why?"

He allowed her to hit him repeatedly and quietly slipped his arms around her shoulders and pulled her close until she could hit him no more. There she continued to cry and he answered her question, unsure whether she would hear him or not.

"Because I was an idiot."

She heard him and clung even tighter.

* * *

"How's that popcorn coming on?" Buffy asked with a falsely bright voice.

"What? Oh, yeah. Um, great. Poptastic," Xander answered, his back to hers. "How's the coffee?"

"Fine! Good. Coffee-tastic!" Buffy laughed, but it was a fake laugh and Xander closed his eyes.

Dumb, dumb, dumb.

Why did he have to kiss her? _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Now it was all false and they were avoiding eye contact. _Maybe I could say Willow went off the rails again and did a spell that made me kiss her? _It had been going so well. They were having a serious conversation and wham! It all went to hell. He couldn't even blame being drunk this time. And why didn't he go home. He had to stay and try to remedy the situation, make it into a fun night so all of this would be forgotten. _Damn. Hey! Wait a minute! I'm remembering something here… That's it! She kissed me back!_

"Buffy?" he said, turning and studying her.

"Yeah?" she answered shrilly, her head turning slightly, but when she saw he was staring, she turned back.

"I kissed you," he stated flatly.

She turned slightly and stared at his chest. _I can't even look him in the eyes anymore… Oh, Xander… Oh God! Where'd you get that shirt? Y'know, I'm really gonna have to dress you properly one of these days… But then you wouldn't really be my Xander…_

"Yeah…" she replied slowly. "But it was a friendship thing! Comfort and friendship and - and…"

"I like you," he finished.

She lifted her eyes to his and saw burning sincerity. _No, no, no. Xander don't do this. Don't go there. Don't. These things never go well, not with me. I can't do this with you. We can't risk this._

"That was why I kissed you," he continued, his voice careful, his face gauging her reaction. When she didn't say anything, when she barely moved, he went on. "And I kinda think you like me too, 'cause you kissed me back."

He carried on looking at her. Not the challenging look of Spike, it was soft understanding. He had seen everything and somewhere along the line, he had learnt the things she tried to keep hidden. And he always supported her, even if he was totally against something she needed help with. He backed her because he… cared.

"So?" he prompted. "Am I right?"

Her silence continued and behind him, the microwave pinged. When her silence stretched into minutes, he dropped his gaze and made to leave the kitchen, his stomach clenching as he passed her.

"Yes."

"Huh?" he asked, frowning at her from the kitchen doorway.

"Yes. You're right. I like you too."

He didn't waste time staring at her. When she moved toward him, as soon as she was within reach, he pulled her close and kissed her.

_I'm always right…_

* * *

Spike thrust a tissue into her line of vision and stood awkwardly while she wiped her eyes with it.

"You ok now, then?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied, sniffing. "I'm fine. I'm just being stupid. Humans and their dumb emotions. I should know better."

"Because you know all men are evil?" he asked with a smile, sitting down opposite her.

"Not all men," she said, glancing up. "But most. Yeah, something like that."

He nodded and drummed his fingers together, leaning back on the back legs of the chair to stare at the ceiling.

"I don't hate you, y'know," he stated meditatively. "I was just…."

"Angry," she supplied. "I know. I was there."

"Yeah… Sorry if I scared you."

His gaze was still fixed on the ceiling, but he heard her snort. He allowed the chair to fall back to the floor with a crash and raised his eyebrows at her.

"How ladylike of you, Anya. Can I ask what that's s'posed to mean?"

"Scared me?" she asked haughtily. "As if you could scare me! I've never been scared of you!"

"You never saw evil me!" he protested.

"Oh please!" she laughed. "I've heard enough."

"Yeah, right. 'Cause the Scoobs would admit I had the power to make 'em piss themselves!"

"No, not them. Halfrek."

"Hal - who?"

"Halfrek. A Vengeance demon friend of mine. She meant you back in 1880."

"Excuse me?" he asked incredulously. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

"It didn't come up," she shrugged and returned to studying her nails. "And it was ages ago, before I came to Sunnydale."

"So?"

"So, what?"

"So what did she say? C'mon!"

"I thought you said we weren't going to talk. We weren't going to give Tara and Dawn the satisfaction of doing what they say, remember?"

"We're not doing as they say!" he protested. "We're talking about other stuff! Not us!"

"Fine," she said distantly, a slight smile curving her lips. "Well, she was trying to curse this guy, Worth, because he didn't propose to some girl he was courting."

"Worth?" Spike repeated, "Henry Worth?"

"I think so. It was a long time ago, Spike. Anyway, she never got around to it 'cause you killed him. With a railroad spike, I think she said."

"You knew all this?"

"Yep. I didn't keep track of you or anything, but of course I recognised the name when I heard it and I recognised you from Halfrek's description. She was going by the name Cecily, by the way."

"Cecily?" he asked. "Cecily Townsend?"

"Yes," Anya said absently. "She said you - Spike? Spike, you ok?"

He glared heavily at her and pushed his chair back with a screech, leaving the kitchen and storming into his room, slamming the door hard enough to make her jump.

Anya stared in shock at the kitchen door, then continued her sentence in a horror struck mumble:

"She said… you'd fallen in love with her… before you became a vampire…. Oh, God…"


	9. Prove It

**_Two To Tango_**  
**Chapter Nine: Prove It**

"Cecily… Cecily who broke his heart… The night he was turned… Beneath her…" Anya grasped for the details. Halfrek had laughingly told her the details years while they cursed some Earl in France. Spike had given her a brief summary of the whole thing and she had never put two and two together. Not until she saw that look on his face when she said the name. "Oh no. Oh no, no, no. Hallie, you bitch!"

She jumped up and ran into the living room, hitting herself in the head with the heel of her hand._ I'm an idiot. I'm a dope. I'm stupid._

"Spike," she called through his door, now twisting her hands together and shifting her weight from foot to foot. "Spike, I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't even realise until now. Halfrek told me about it over a century ago. She called you William, but I didn't realise… I didn't think you were the same person… Please, Spike, I'm sorry."

The door swung open and she cowered beneath the furious glare of a livid Spike.

"So you just realised five minutes ago who I was, huh?"

She bowed her head and shook it slowly.

"No," she squeaked.

"Go on then," he said, red hot anger suppressed in his voice as he leaned against the door and continued to glare at her. "When did you realise?"

"Hallie came into the shop a few days before all this…. She saw you leaving and said that was you, you were… William."

"And I suppose you two had a good laugh about it, eh? Thought it was really funny, did you?"

"No!" Anya protested, waving her hands wildly. "She just said she recognised you, we talked, then she realised who you were. She didn't say anymore, Buffy came in, so she left. I didn't remember everything she told me, just the railroad spike bit."

"You said you recognised my name and me from that one's description."

"Of course I recognised your name!" she huffed. "Practically everyone in the demon world does! You killed two Slayers! I recognised Angelus's name too! And when Halfrek realised who you were... But I didn't remember who Halfrek had been until I said it just then!"

He dropped his gaze, pinning it on the wall over her shoulder and breathed heavily. Shakily, she placed a hand against his chest.

"I would never laugh at you. I think she's a bitch for what she did. Really, Spike, I would never, ever laugh at you. And if she did I'd kill her!"

He let out a "huh!" of laughter that vibrated through his chest and thrummed along her fingers. She moved her fingers against his shirt and he looked down at her. He smiled reassuringly, placed his hand over hers, and gave it a light squeeze.

"I know," he let go of her hand and started to back into his room.

"Hey! Hey, where you going?" she grabbed his wrist and pulled him toward.

"Into my room. That a crime now?"

"You said you knew I wouldn't laugh at you," she said quietly.

"I do know that."

"So why are you going away from me?"

"Because - Because - "

"You don't really believe me, do you?"

"Can you really blame me?" he asked suddenly. "Can you really expect me to think you didn't realise all this time?"

She grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward. Taken by surprise, he stumbled forward against her chest. She wrapped her arms around her neck and pulled him down, crushing her lips to his. He struggled for a second, before he gave in to her insistence and held her tightly around the waist.

Anya pulled away gasping.

"There you go," she panted. "Now do you believe me when I say I would _never_ laugh at you?"

She stalked off to the kitchen and he touched his lips with a frown.

"Right, I give up, I don't bloody understand you."

Anya sighed and looked up from where she was bent over, searching the shelves of the refrigerator.

"Don't you have _anything_ edible? Didn't you do the shop? You've only got mouldy cheese, empty lager cans and two packets of blood."

"Anya, you are the densest person I have ever met."

"Well, that's pleasant," she answered, turning her attention to the cupboards, grabbing a pack of cookies that she ripped open. She offered him one whilst she munched her own.

"What the hell was that?" he demanded.

"What the hell was what?"

"You - you kissed me, you crazy bint!"

"Yes. I was making a point, Spike."

He hitched himself up onto the counter and dropped his head in his hands. _Making a point. Everyone wants to make a point… Can't say I didn't _**enjoy**_ that particular point, but it was just a point. Nothing that mattered. Which is fine. Great. Don't want to complicate things._

"Would you like to know what I was making a point about?" she asked, picking up another cookie.

"That you wouldn't laugh at me?" he offered.

"Besides that."

"Dazzle me."

"I still want you," she stated as though it was the simplest thing in the world. "And you still want me. I still love you, I think you still love me. And if you must know, sleeping with Xander made me realise you are much better in bed."

He smiled slightly in spite of himself. But come on, how could Harris be better in bed than him? He coughed slightly and became interested in the far wall.

"How do you know I still want you?" he asked.

She raised an eyebrow and snorted in laughter.

"Spike, I was with you long enough to know I can drive you wild with a kiss. That would have changed if you didn't want me anymore. It hasn't. I've still got it."

"So you think just 'cause I still want you and you still want me, we can just get back together?"

"Of course not! I'm not stupid. We can get back together because you love me and I love you."

"You make it sound so simple."

"That's because it is, honey," she got up and approached the counter. She leaned on it, one hand either side of his legs. He sighed gently and slipped one arm around her waist, the other hand cupping her cheek. He swept his hand over her hair and brought it to rest on her hip.

"And if it's not that simple?" he asked.

"We try harder," she answered stubbornly.

He laughed a little and kissed her forehead. When he looked at her, her eyes were closed.

"Y'know, if we get back together, we're gonna have to make up with Buffy and Xander."

"Why?" she demanded.

"'Cause you run the shop they have their meetings in. Plus, I don't much fancy the idea of being on the wrong side of the Slayer."

"Fine," she replied. "Do I have to like it?"

"No, no you don't have to like it, love."

"So are you gonna kiss me now or what?"

He laughed again and kissed her, sliding off the counter as he did so. He tightened his hold on her until he lifted her off the floor. When she pulled back for air, he brushed her hair back.

"God, I've missed you, Sunshine," he whispered.

"Prove it," she breathed and pushed against him. He backed out of the kitchen and stumbled into the bedroom, where he did just that.


	10. More Than Just Good Friends

**_Two To Tango_**  
**Chapter Ten: More Than Just Good Friends**

"Anya?"

"Mmm?"

"You know what you said, about turning you…?"

She opened her eyes and moved so she was leaning over him, a frown on her face. _Oh no you don't, we're not going there again. No way._

"I thought we agreed not to go there?" she asked. "Remember?"

"I know, but I was thinking…" he dropped his eyes and studied his fingers. "It wouldn't be that bad, and you'd always be there, that's a plus."

She grinned widely and kissed his nose.

"Yeah, that would be a plus."

"So I was just gonna say, if you still want me to… I will."

She studied him for a minute and decided he was serious. Not exactly comfortable, but serious nonetheless and it made her chest ache that he would actually consider it after what happened last time. In a moment of absolute adoration, she leaned down and kissed him hard on the lips.

"I'd like it," she said carefully, after she had her breath back. "But not now… One day soon, but right now I'm happy here."

"You sure?"

"Yep."

"I'm happy where you are too," he replied, slipping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her gently back down to lean on his chest. "I love you, Sunshine."

She sighed happily, enjoying the vibration of his voice humming through his chest and along her cheek. She yawned a little and traced a heart on his chest with her finger. She kissed it and settled back down again, closing her eyes sleepily.

"Good, 'cause I love you too, honey."

* * *

They were twisted together on the couch; her hand bunched under his shirt and his hand gently cupping her ass. She whimpered every now and again and Xander wondered how a simple noise could sound so good.

"Could you two get a room, please?"

They started and leapt apart, scrabbling with their clothes. Buffy smoothed her hair and Xander wiped the lipstick from his mouth. They smiled innocently at Dawn who was already shuffling to the kitchen, rubbing her eyes and yawning. They avoided each other's eyes until Dawn came back into the living room, clutching a glass of water.

"Night, Buffy," she mumbled. "Night, Xander."

"Night, Dawn!" they called chirpily after her.

"Ok, that was awkward," Buffy muttered.

"But fun," Xander answered. "Fun, right?"

"Fun, yep, definitely!"

"Oh no."

"What?"

"That means you're gonna end this here and everything will be awkward and weird. Hurry up, then, Buff, get it over with," he drew in a quiet, if shuddering breath and resisted the urge to close his eyes against the words, knowing that wouldn't make it hurt less.

"I'm not gonna end this, Xander," Buffy answered quietly. "I'm just wondering how this works. I mean, you and me. What if we… break up or something…? Won't everything be awkward then?"

"What if we don't break up?" he asked, trying to keep the desperate tone out of his voice.

"Have you seen my track record, Xander? Every relationship I have ends in pain, chaos and the guy leaving town."

"My track record's not all that great, either. Demons, demons, leaving fiancée at the altar, oh and let's not forget Cordelia. Maybe if we're together, we're owed a bit of luck."

"You think?" she asked doubtfully.

"It's worth a try," Xander shrugged, an attempt at casual that was too stiff to be real.

"You're right," Buffy's hand sought Xander's and squeezed. "So, you want to stay…?"

"Yeah. I've always like this couch."

"I meant with me…"

"Buffy, I don't think we should rush this…"

"You're not gonna turn evil if we sleep together, are you, Xander?" she joked, heart in her mouth. _He's changed his mind… He doesn't want this…_.

"You never know," he answered. "Look, I've wanted you for a long time, I think I can wait."

"Ok," she said quietly. "But you could still stay with me, doesn't mean we have to _do_ anything…"

"I think I'd love that."

She grinned and stood, pulling him up and leading him up to her room. He stumbled after her, wondering if any of this was real, and if it wasn't, if it was all just a dream, how was he going to cope if he woke up?

* * *

Tara opened the door and leapt back as Anya bundled a blanket clad Spike into the hallway. Spike dragged it off and stamped on it until it stopped smoking. Anya caught his arm and smoothed his hair, kissing his cheek as Tara shut the door.

_Thank the Goddess…_ she thought, a wide smile on her face.

"Glinda, Glinda, Glinda," Spike chanted happily, catching her around the waist and swinging her around.

"Put me down, Spike!" she squealed.

"Just my way of saying thanks," he grinned, kissing her quickly on the cheek. "Ta, pet. Where's the Bit?"

"Hi, Spike," Dawn bounded down the stairs and caught Anya's hands excitedly. "Well? Did it work?"

"What you did was very wrong, Dawn," Anya said sternly. "Not only did you leave the house in the middle of the night, you locked Spike and I in. Which may have ended very badly…"

"But?" Tara prompted.

"But, it worked," Spike finished, tickling Dawn's sides as Anya hugged Tara tightly.

"I knew it!" Dawn crowed. "Say it, Tara, go on, say I'm great."

"Don't push it, Dawnie," Tara answered, smiling. "You're still grounded."

"Right now, I don't care!" Dawn hummed and skipped toward the kitchen, singing loudly.

"What's going on down here - oh, oh, Spike, Anya. Hi!"

"Calm down, Red," Spike said. "We're not here to cause a row."

He slipped an arm around Anya's waist and pulled her close, kissing her hair gently.

"We're back together, Willow!" Anya announced. "Tara and Dawn locked us in the apartment last night!"

"That worked?" Willow sounded impressed. "So, now you're in a good mood, huh?"

"Yep," Anya nodded.

"Well," Willow placed her hands on her hips and glared at the couple. "I want you two to make up with Buffy and Xander, ok? No arguments, resolve face, see?"

Tara slipped her arms around Willow's waist and leaned her head on her shoulder.

"I think she's right, guys."

"If you'd given us half a chance, love, that's sorta what we're here for," Spike answered. "Bury the hatchet."

"But not in Buffy or Xander's heads," Anya added helpfully.

"Right, good," Willow beamed, slightly worried though that the thought had actually crossed Anya's mind. "They're just upstairs."

"They?" Spike asked, raising his eyebrows. "The two of 'em? Together?"

"So Dawn says," Tara answers. "And according to Willow, there's two Buffy and Xander shaped lumps in Buffy's bed."

"We shoulda put money on it, Sunshine," Spike stated to Anya.

"Morning, guys!" Buffy sing-songed from the top of the stairs, but she froze when she saw Spike and Anya.

"Morning. Hello, you," Xander's arms snaked into their line of vision around Buffy's waist before the rest of him. His eyes widened as he noticed their respective exes. And there went his good mood. He had woken that morning to find himself fully clothed and spooned around Buffy who was sleeping peacefully in his arms. He had decided that even if this was a fantastic dream, he would treat her like he always thought she should be treated.

"Back together then, I see," Xander said, choosing his words very carefully, swallowing around the lump of guilt that floated over the giggly, warm feeling.

"Exactly right, Harris," Spike answered jovially. Right then, not even Xander could ruin his good mood. Especially now that Xander was hugging Buffy like that and Spike had always said to Anya it was only a matter of time. God, but he did love being right.

"You two are together too," Anya noted.

"Um, yeah…" Buffy said, lowering her eyes before sweeping them back to Xander. "Dawnie! Hi, I've got something to tell you -"

"You and Xander are a couple," Dawn said, wandering toward the gathering by the front door with a mouthful of toast. "Congratulations. You moving in, Xander?"

"We, er, haven't got that far yet, Dawn," Xander answered.

"Ok. So, are you guys gonna make up?" Dawn eyed Spike and Anya before smirking at Xander and Buffy.

"If that's what you two want," Buffy ventured. _Please want to, right now I'd do anything for everything just be fine. S_he glanced back at Xander - _my boyfriend, wow - _who nodded.

"Yep!" Anya chirped. "So long as you promise to not so much as remove Spike's duster with your eyes."

"Same goes for you, Harris," Spike warned.

"Spike, why would I want to undress you with my eyes?" Xander asked, though the suggestion had brought a vivid picture to his mind that he buried under a Buffy montage.

"No need to get shirty," Spike answered. "Just keep your eyes to your Slayer and not my girl. That's if you're not undressing the Slayer already with those beady eyes of yours. Tut, tut, Xander, not very gentlemanly of you."

Xander looked at Spike with as much dignity as he could muster, but Spike merely raised an eyebrow shrewdly and shrugged. For some reason, Xander felt a rush of respect for the vampire. He had been sure Spike would never want to forgive and forget and would spend the rest of his unlife plotting Xander's gruesome death.

Xander would have been more shocked, however, to discover that Spike was experiencing a similar feeling of grudging respect, but he dismissed it as hunger.

"Right, whatever," Xander shrugged after a moment.

"Want to join us for breakfast?" Buffy offered, grinning at her boyfriend. _Will I ever get used to that? And undressing me with his eyes? Mmm, I guess I could get used to it._

"Yeah," Anya nodded. "It's not like Spike can actually cook or anything."

"Hey, I'll make you pay for that!" he protested.

"Promise?" she asked as the gang headed toward the kitchen, happily coupled off with Dawn at their head.

"Buffy? Now you've all got cute little relationships going on and I'm all alone, can we have a puppy now?"

* * *

_**The End.**_


End file.
